Hobnobbing
by Mister Mystery
Summary: Maya hates mingling with the upper crust, so she asks Phoenix to come along to keep her sane. Hey, how bad could it be? Phoenix/Maya, shortly after the events of AJ:AA.
1. Lengthy Preparations

_(Author Note: yet another semi-sequel to my previous story,_ It is a Mystery. _Though it's still not exactly required reading, it will probably enhance your experience.)_

"How much longer are you gonna be?"

"Will you just hold your horses? Or keep your pants on? Or . . . whatever?"

Phoenix sighed wearily as he sat back on the sofa. He wasn't so sure about his judgement anymore.

It had all started, rather innocuously, with a phone call. Maya was calling to let him know she wouldn't be coming to visit that week because of other obligations. Phoenix hadn't had to press much harder to get her to start ranting about how much she hated her duties as 'ambassador' for Kurain Village.

"I swear to all that's good and just, if I have to spend _one more night _with those selfish, pompous, egotistical jackasses I'm going to freak out and murder somebody. You'd defend me, right Nick? I swear, no jury would convict me once they'd heard what I had to go through."

Phoenix couldn't stop himself from smiling. Maya was probably the only person he knew who could make hobnobbing with the rich and famous sound like getting a root canal. "What's so bad about going to a party?" He'd asked innocently.

"Ooooh, if you only knew," she had replied, her tone rather like that of a sailor who'd seen the kraken. "Hey . . . why don't you come with? That'd certainly brighten my evening. And I'm _fairly_ certain you could overpower me if I went berserk." The emphasis on 'fairly' had not escaped his ears then. Maya's spirits were clearly lifted by the thought of his company, and he wasn't about to disappoint her. Besides, how bad could it be? "Okay then," he had chuckled into the phone, "when is it?"

Turns out he didn't have anything pressing that day. He had been able to get out of work easily - Mr. Vasili never liked it when _anyone_ took a personal day, but he wasn't exactly a crucial member of the staff, so he'd given in without much of a fight. There were no poker games that night either, and he had told Apollo that he was "_fairly_ certain you can take care of Trucy for one night."

And so the plans were made - Maya would arrive by train earlier in the day, get ready, and they'd head out for an evening with the upper class.

Oh, if only it were that simple.

Maya had arrived early in the afternoon with bags aplenty of toiletries and fancy clothing, but after seeing the suit Phoenix had planned on wearing, she had been positively agog.

"You're going in_ that?_" She said, her jaw going slack. She was as tactless as ever. "This isn't like the courtroom, Phoenix, these people have dress codes."

"Bu-"

"No buts! This simply will not do, I'm sorry." She huffed and crossed her arms. "I'll have to rent you a tux."

She had quickly left the apartment, quashing all protests on the way out (in a rather roundabout way: "do you even know how much I make? No? Well good, because it's none of your business. Just know that it's no trouble, _jeez_.") and returning with a rented tuxedo before promptly shoving Phoenix into the bedroom to put it on.

It wasn't tailored for him, so it didn't fit perfectly in places, but on the whole it was certainly the nicest thing he had ever wore - the black jacket and pants were a fine material the felt smooth to the touch, the shirt was silk, and the tie and cummerbund matched. It had taken him some time to remember how to tie his bowtie, but he had managed. The least expensive thing on his body right now were probably the black dress shoes he had bought years back and had never actually worn.

Then the waiting game began. She bathed in his tub, dried and brushed and styled her hair in his bathroom, dressed and preened in his bedroom. Phoenix had barely seen her all day. He had heard all the jokes before about women taking forever to get ready, but he had never actually thought there was so much _truth_ to them. Now he knew better.

So there he sat, on his couch, watching TV or reading a book or just staring at the ceiling, waiting for those magic words. Finally, they came.

"I'm ready!" She called before opening the door to the bedroom and stepping out.

The moment he saw her, he knew that all that time had not gone to waste. Maya looked positively gorgeous in her simple black evening dress. It danced around at her ankles as she walked and showed off every curve on her body without actually drawing attention to them. Her face, already beautiful in his eyes, was only enhanced by the subtle application of makeup. Her lips were a bright red now, clashing wonderfully with her raven-black hair, which flowed down elegantly from a far more elaborate bun slash topknot (bunknot? he wondered) than she usually wore. The charms and baubles in her hair had been replaced with ones that seemed to sparkle and glow, light reflecting off the jewels and crystals embedded within them. She had even done her nails - they were polished to a mirror shine.

He felt like an idiot, sitting on the couch in his rented tux. He didn't deserve to be in the same _room_ with this woman.

"Well?" She said lightly, spinning around. "How do I look?"

It actually took him a moment to find his voice. "Incredible," he said before clearing his throat. "Really great. Yeah."

Maya hadn't missed that little slip, and she reveled in his awe. She stretched her arms and arched her back seductively. "Yeah, you don't rush perfection."

As Phoenix stood, determined not to be reduced to a gibbering fool at the sight of her, he couldn't help but notice her eyebrows raise. He did cut a rather dashing figure in his tux, with his broad shoulders and a rather lithe build from all the walking and cycling he did. Sometimes not having a car had it's advantages.

The tables now turned, Phoenix sauntered over to her, feeling just a bit more confident about his own looks. "I think I remember this dress," he said, running a hand up her back.

"Oh yeah," Maya said, realization striking her. "I walked into your bar after one of these parties." She chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "God, I was so desperate for anyone _normal_ to talk to, I started chatting up the piano player."

"Good thing you did, I'd say." He kissed her lightly on the forehead. He could smell her perfume, lilacs or something similar. "I don't think you were quite so done up, though."

"Yeah, that party was pretty low rent compared to this one. I've been moving _up_ in the world." She scoffed and pouted, averting her gaze. Phoenix took her hands from behind his neck and held them in his own.

"Hey, it's good for Kurain, right?" He said, trying to encourage her.

"Right. . . I guess." She sighed and her voice grew quiet. "I'll be real happy when I don't have to do this any more, though."

Phoenix gave her a quizzical look. "How's that?"

All of a sudden Maya looked rather flustered. She clearly hadn't meant to say that aloud, but they were always so open around each other and apparently it had just slipped out. "Uh, jeez, look at the time, we had better get going if we want to be on time!" She pulled herself away and grabbed her small black purse from the table.

Phoenix decided to save his questions for a time when she wasn't quite so stressed. He checked he had everything he needed - wallet, keys, cell phone, and the Magatama - then headed for the door.

"You know what?" He said, smiling as he opened the door for her. She looked up at him. "The shoes are still my favorite part of the outfit."

Maya laughed for the first time that day, her high-heeled sandals clicking against the wood floor of the corridor as she stepped out of the apartment.


	2. Over the Top

They stepped out of Phoenix's apartment building and into the street. It was a few minutes walk before they got to a busy thoroughfare where hailing a cab wouldn't be impossible. Another minutes' wait and then they were inside one.

"Where to?" The dark-skinned cabbie asked amiably.

"51 Nightengale Lane," Maya answered, fumbling with the catches on her little black purse.

"You need some help there or. . .?" Phoenix asked, half serious.

"Nah, I'm good. Could use your opinion on something, though." She finally managed to force the things open and reached into the handbag, pulling out a thick, fluffy, fur boa-thing about two feet long and a pair of long black gloves. Phoenix looked on, stunned as she wrapped the fur around her neck like a mink and put on the gloves, which reached past her elbows.

"What do you think? Am I just gilding the lily at this point?" She asked, fluffing her collar a bit and straightening up.

"How did you fit those _in_ there?" He asked incredulously.

"Hard work and gumption," she deadpanned. "Now come on, what do you think?"

Phoenix scratched his head sheepishly. This was not his element. "I dunno, I thought you looked good before. I don't see why you need anything more."

"Yeah, too Cruella de Ville?" She grimaced a little and tugged on the ends of the fur to make sure it was even.

"Sort of, I guess." He stared at her purse. "Uh, what else do you have in that bag?"

Maya opened it up and examined the contents. "Let's see. . .money, keys to the manor, coin purse, compact mirror, lipstick, blush, breath mints, a collapsible hairbrush, the invitation to the party, and a pair of gloves for you if you need 'em." She looked up at him. "Why do you ask?"

Phoenix just stared at her. "No reason."

Maya sighed and took out the gloves, handing them to him and beginning the arduous process of closing the purse. "The people at these parties are a fickle bunch. Fashion is everything to a lot of them, and appearance is important if you want respect, but the styles are always changing. Sometimes less is more, and simple is the way to go, and sometimes no one will talk with you unless you're wearing a mink coat, a pair of gloves, and have at least three different kinds of jewels on your person. Might as well just wear the darn things 'til we get to the party, then we can scope out what everyone else is wearing. If we're overdressed, we can leave 'em at the coat check."

Phoenix had never really thought that being a guest to a simple party would require so much thought and preparation. Of course, he was never exactly a member of high society, but he thought certain things just couldn't be complicated. You show up in a decent suit, you eat a little food, talk up a few strangers, make some friends, and everyone goes home happy. He was slowly learning that hobnobbing was a lot more complicated than it sounded.

"And you've had to go to how many of these parties?" He asked as he put on the gloves while Maya finally closed the purse and set it at her feet.

"Over the last seven years?" She slumped in her seat, momentarily foregoing propriety and giving in to her lethargy. "I lost count somewhere around sixty five."

Suddenly Phoenix realized exactly how she felt. He knew it before, of course, but now he _understood_. He rubbed his forehead to will away the beginnings of a headache.

"I can see how this might get old after a while," he said. Maya laughed mirthlessly.

"We haven't even gotten to the _party_ yet."

* * *

It was a few minutes before the cab arrived at it's destination. A red-suited bellboy opened the door for Maya, and she stepped out gracefully. As Phoenix climbed after her, he heard the bellboy say, "Welcome to the Rosegarden, ma'am."

As he stepped out, Phoenix's gaze was naturally drawn inward, towards the lobby. A moment to pay the cabbie, and then Maya linked her arm with his and they walked confidently into the hotel.

Phoenix was shocked at the sheer ostentatiousness of the place. The ceiling was covered in large panels made to look ceramic, with intricate designs carved into every one. The floor, made of something that looked like golden marble, was so shiny he could see himself in it. The waiting area was larger and nicer than his entire apartment, with leather couches and chairs and glass tables and decorations designed by either visionary artists or raving lunatics. The main desk was long and wide, with a giant carved embellishment running it's entire length on the front. It looked like a stylized rosebush.

This place made the Gatewater look like a bed and breakfast.

Maya shoved her elbow into his ribs. "Quit gawking, Nick, you look like a tourist," she whispered. "You gotta look like you belong here."

Phoenix nodded and straightened up. Seven years of semi-professional poker experience allowed him to affect an air of comfortable indifference with ease.

They walked up the front desk. After Maya showed her invitation to the party, the red-suited woman behind the desk pulled out a key from a drawer behind the counter. She said to use it in one of the elevators. They weren't far from the lobby. Less than a minute later, they were inside one. Even the elevators were audacious, with shiny gold railings along the back and sides with bronze and crimson accenting up and down the corners.

Maya found a keyhole next to a small sign above the other buttons that side 'Rosegarden Terrace' and inserted the key. The elevator doors closed and they began their ascent. It was quick, despite the fact that Phoenix had been sure the building was at least twenty stories high.

The doors opened, revealing a small room with a desk to the right and coats hanging behind it. Standing in front of them was yet another red-suited employee, this time a tall man in a red and gold jacket. "Invitations please," he said as soon as he saw them. As Maya pulled it out of her tiny purse, Phoenix wondered exactly why all this security was necessary. Were they really so worried about their party being crashed? Or was it just to make everyone invited feel important?

Once the guard was satisfied that the invitation was legitimate, he smiled thinly and handed it back to her. "Shall I announce you, madame?" He asked in a tone of voice that said _please say no, I've already done this a hundred times tonight._

Maya didn't miss the message. "No," she said in a rather comforting tone, "that's fine. I'll just see myself in."

The tall man sighed openly with relief and his smile seemed a bit more genuine. "As you wish, madame." He gestured behind him at the last set of oak doors that seperated them from the party they had already worked hard to get to.

Phoenix linked arms with Maya again. She took a deep breath. "Alright, here we go."

They strode forward with purpose and resolve. Phoenix opened the door for them.


	3. Open Bar

The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was the windows. They were huge, almost two stories tall. Giant plate glass with black supports every thirty feet or so. They extended almost unbroken around the entire floor, providing an incredible, almost three hundred and sixty degree view of the city of Los Angeles and it's skyline.

The second thing he noticed was the smell of roses. Not overpowering, but ever-present whereever he turned his head. There were rosebushes and plants around, in pots on the floor, vases on the tables, and hanging suspended from the high ceiling, but he didn't think they alone could produce the smell. He guessed they must have some kind of artificial scent piping through the ventilation system.

The third thing he noticed was the old lady walking towards them. She wore a relatively subdued, tasteful peach colored dress with various pleats and ruffles, and her silver hair was tied into a bun. She reminded Phoenix of his grandma for some reason.

"Ah, Ms. Fey!" She said happily as she closed the distance between them. "I am _so_ happy you could make it! And you've brought a friend! This is a first!"

Phoenix glanced at Maya and found her smiling. "Hello, Mrs. Scantlebury. Sorry if I'm late at all."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Pish posh, think nothing of it. You're certainly not the last to arrive, Ms. Cresswell is running late again. Now aren't you going to introduce me to your handsome friend?"

Maya gestured towards him. "This is one of my dearest friends, Phoenix Wright. Phoenix, this is Mrs. Virginia Scantlebury. She's the one who's arranged this little get together."

Phoenix bowed a little at the waist. "A pleasure to meet you, madame."

Scantlebury put a hand to her heart. "Good heavens, a gentleman. I thought I'd never see another one."

"Oh, he's just putting on airs. Normally, he's just an ill-mannered hobo." Phoenix raised an eyebrow at Maya, who was still smiling. Mrs. Scantlebury was laughing. He got the impression she thought Maya was joking.

"Well, I am afraid I have important party-related business to manage. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask!" Mrs. Scantlebury gave Maya a little hug, shook Phoenix's hand, and then went on her way, passing through the rather large crowd of guests towards the opposite end of the room.

"I thought you said you didn't like these people," he asked as they made their way towards the crowd.

"Mrs. Scantlebury is the exception. She came to Kurain about a year ago. Her husband had recently passed away and she wanted to speak to him one last time. After I performed the channelling, she invited me to one of her parties and that's how I got involved in this particular little social circle." Maya exchanged pleasantries with a female guest wearing a slim white strapless gown before continuing, whispering quietly. "She's a nice old lady with a good heart, but she's a bit naive. I don't think she understands just how terrible most of the people here are."

"They don't seem so bad to me," Phoenix said innocently, gazing around him at the other guests.

"Oh really?" Maya said stiffly. "I'll go get us some drinks, and then we'll see how you feel after you mingle for a little bit."

* * *

There was a man Phoenix knew. A homeless man who lived near a bus stop that he used pretty often. He had a bit of a limp and dressed shabbily, with wild bushy hair and an unkempt beard. He was a friendly sort, always willing to chat, and he had quite a few stories in him. Apparently he was a war veteran, though he never said exactly _which_ war. He collected bottlecaps, which he fished out of trash cans every now and then, but not just the metal ones. Even the worthless plastic ones.

He was far better company than the man Phoenix was talking to.

He collected antique knives or some such. Maybe spoons too. Phoenix had stopped listening a minute ago. He just kept droning on and on about the most petty, self-absorbed, unimportant topics. It was like listening to a bad stand up comedian, except he wasn't joking. He also had a terrible speaking voice. Phoenix could barely understand a word he said unless he was actively trying to listen, and at this point, he'd rather drive forks into his ears than do anything of the sort.

He looked away from the droning man and his two cohorts who were apparently hanging on every word. He found Maya some distance away, surrounded by a number of other women done up with varying levels of makeup and in various styles of dress. She was carrying on a conversation with them and actually managing to look interested, even as though she were having a good time. He didn't know how she did it.

He looked back and the droning man was still going, talking about one of the other partygoers now, using first names that Phoenix didn't recognize and eliciting chuckles from the other two men. He had to get out of here.

"Excuse me gentlemen," he spoke up, cutting into the conversation. "I think I'd better go find my date."

Phoenix quickly made his escape, striding away from the group and towards Maya, hoping that _their_ conversation would be more interesting.

"I'm telling you, I was at Miriam's with Junie and Tawnie and she just said the _worst_ thing -"

Phoenix strode right past them, not bothering to glance in their direction. He hoped the bar was still open.

* * *

"What's this again?"

The bartender looked up from mixing another drink. "Portugal aguardente brandy, sir. Very hard to find in Los Angeles."

He knew why. It tasted terrible. Of course none of the patrons would say that, because it was rare, and as big shot cultured sophisticates they had to like it. Or at least _say_ they liked it.

"Hitting the booze already? Wussy." Maya stepped up next to him. Phoenix sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't worry about it." She gestured to the bartender. "Dry martini, three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka; half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken over ice, with a thin slice of lemon peel."

"Yes ma'am." He quickly went about the business of mixing her drink, leaving them alone at the bar for the moment.

"You don't need to stick around if you don't want to." Maya smiled slightly and shrugged. "I'm the only one who really needs to be here."

Phoenix shook his head. "No way am I leaving you alone here." He rubbed his forehead. "Still, these people are so . . . so . . ."

"Vindictive? Spiteful? Selfish?" She suggested.

"_Boring_," he finished. She laughed lightly.

"Hey, what time do you have?" She asked.

Phoenix pulled out his pocket watch, a birthday gift from Edgeworth. "Almost ten thirty."

"Cresswell should be here soon then." Maya frowned. How she felt about the woman was quite evident. "She's always fashionably late, exactly half an hour after the time on the invitation."

A man stepped up next to them. He looked in his mid forties, with short, shiny black hair slicked back and a full, well trimmed goatee. His suit was black with pinstripes and he wore a white carnation in his breast pocket. He looked smart, but Phoenix couldn't tell if it was intentional or not. He had a woman on his arm, a blonde with a rather vapid expression on her face and a shiny yellow dress.

"Ah, hello Ms. Fey," he said in a rather rumbly bass voice. "I was wondering if I'd see you tonight."

"Gauthier," Maya said with a nod in his general direction. She didn't seem to want to look at him. "Enjoying the party?"

"Quite." His goatee twitched into a smile and apparently he either didn't notice Phoenix or didn't care because he looked her up and down like he was sizing up a piece of meat. Phoenix hated him instantly.

"You look dazzling, as usual," he said in a singsong tone of voice.

"You look tipsy, also as usual." Maya shot a sidelong glance at him. That seemed to be all the attention she was willing to give him.

He just shrugged. "What's the point of coming to a party and _not_ having a little fun?"

"Your drink, ma'am." The bartender returned and set the drink in front of her. Even the martini glasses had embellishments here. Gauthier reached over and took the drink before Maya could even reach it.

"Hey, get your own!" She protested, turning fully to face him with an angry frown on her face.

Gauthier took a sip, swished it around, and swallowed. "Dry martini, three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken over ice, with a thin slice of lemon peel." He smirked. "A fine drink for a sophisticated woman such as yourself."

Maya scoffed and yanked it out of his hands, almost spilling it in the process. She turned towards Phoenix, determined to ignore him.

The blonde to Gauthier's right spoke up, her Brooklyn accent reminding Phoenix of some old gangster flick. "Hey, what about me?"

He turned to look at her. "What about you, dear?"

"Well, what am I? Chopped liver?" She said angrily, hands on her hips.

Gauthier pouted. "I _like_ chopped liver."

While his back was turned Maya made a bottle with her fingers and pretended to drink. Phoenix nodded his understanding - the man was a lush, that much he had gathered.

Suddenly a voice spoke up, loud enough to be heard above the general commotion of the party. Phoenix recognized it as the voice of the tall man from the room outside the elevator. "Madame Sylvia Sophitia Cresswell!"

Gauthier perked up. "Ah, the demon queen is here. Come, dear, let's go say hello." He linked arms with the rather unwilling blonde and stalked off towards the elevator.

Maya looked at Phoenix. He pulled out his pocket watch. "Ten thirty on the nose," he said. She frowned.

"Right on schedule," she grumbled, taking a long drought of her martini before setting it down, leaving a few bills for the bartender, and following after Gauthier and his date.


	4. Life of the Party

_(Author's Note: I've made a couple passes at this chapter and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I figure it's as good as it's going to get. I apologize in advance if it does not live up to expectations.)_

Sylvia Cresswell looked exactly as Phoenix had pictured her. She was a couple inches taller than him, with long, sculpted legs. Golden blonde hair flowed down from her head past her neck, straight near the top and curling at the edges. Her face was angular but not bony, with full cheeks and pouty red lips. Her eyes were smallish and green, and her figure (what Phoenix could see of it) was like an underwear model's. The way she dressed said volumes - stark white dress cut up to the thigh, a thin fur jacket that only descended to her waist, bracelets and bangles and rings on both hands, adorned with rubies and emeralds and diamonds and other gems Phoenix couldn't hope to identify. The stiletto heels she wore were at such an angle Phoenix wondered how she could even walk, yet she did so quite gracefully.

He had to admit, she _was_ attractive. He'd die before he told Maya that, though. Or more accurately, after telling her.

There was a small crowd of guests surrounding her, mostly men, Phoenix noted. He could hear her voice over the murmur of the crowd. She even managed to _sound_ aristocratic. "Alright, alright everyone, settle down. I'm here now, you can start the party."

He glanced over at Maya and caught her gaze. She stuck a finger into her mouth and gagged. Phoenix had to work hard to stifle his laughter.

Just then, a flash of ruffles and peach flew past him and the crowd parted. He recognized Mrs. Scantlebury's voice next. "Ah, Ms. Cresswell! So glad you could make it this evening!"

"I'm sorry for being late," Cresswell said without a hint of sincerity, "but you know traffic in this town, especially travelling from the Hills."

"Of course, of course, think nothing of it!" Mrs. Scantlebury had apparently bought that line without a second thought. "You've arrived just in time actually. I've just gotten the band set up!"

"Wonderful." Cresswell smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. "I do so love a good dance."

The two women exchanged a few more pleasantries before Mrs. Scantlebury bustled off, probably to check on another aspect of the party. Cresswell started trying to make her way into the party proper, waving aside the group of hangers-on she had acquired.

"Gentlemen, please, clear the way, personal space is _important_-" She glanced in Maya's direction and smiled as she saw her, striding over to her past the droning man and his colleagues from earlier. "Hello again, Ms. Maya. You look well."

"As do you, _Madame_ Sylvia." The vitriol she poured on the word was so thick it could have dripped onto the floor. The remark didn't seem to bother Cresswell in the slightest.

"I see you've brought a man with you for once." She turned her attention to Phoenix as if noticing him for the first time. He could feel himself being sized up, though Cresswell wasn't nearly as tactless as Gauthier. "Not bad. Handsome, in a mundane sort of way."

"He's taken," Maya said through clenched teeth. She crossed her arms and glared at the taller woman.

"Really?" She put on a look of confusion. "By who?"

If looks could kill, Sylvia Cresswell would have been dead before she hit the ground.

"By _you?"_ She said, shock in her voice. "Oh, my apologies! I thought he was just a friend of yours."

Maya said nothing and frowned heavily. Cresswell just smirked.

"Well, I must be going. Can't devote all my attention to you, Ms. Maya, as much as I'd like to." She clapped her hands together and looked at them both. "I wish you all the best, and hundreds of fat children. Have a good night now."

And she just turned and walked off. Maya growled quietly, mumbling things that Phoenix was sure were not befitting a lady of her stature. He had to act quickly.

"Um," he looked around the exceptionally large party hall, searching for something, _anything_ to distract her. His eyes came to rest on the band, a ways off on the other side of the room. "How about a dance?"

Maya blinked and looked up at Phoenix, rage slowly sliding off her face. "What?"

He bowed slightly and extended a hand. "May I have the honor of a dance?"

She blinked at him again before smiling slightly. She uncrossed her arms and laid her hand in his own. "Of course."

* * *

As Phoenix led her closer to the dance floor itself, he actually got his first good look at the band. They did not seem pleased with the current state of affairs.

There were three of them. They were all in tuxedos, all of which looked as rented as his did. The one playing the cello was tall and heavy set, with a thick jaw and big hands with long fingers. He looked thoroughly quite bored as he moved the bow back and forth in a simple, stiff rhythm. The second one, a dark haired latino man playing the violin, looked both bored and uncomfortable as he played along with the cellist. He didn't seem to have mastered the violin entirely. The final one, a black man playing the piano also looked bored as his fingers danced across the keys. He was clearly skilled, playing with just one hand at times, but looked thoroughly apathetic about the song itself. This was clearly not their normal gig, and Phoenix guessed that they had been roped into this by Mrs. Scantlebury, probably because she needed a band and didn't understand when they told her this was not what they normally did. He figured the only reason they were here was for the money, which Mrs. Scantlebury was probably very free with.

At any rate, they were playing a simple waltz at the moment. Phoenix intended to take advantage of it, despite the fact that barely knew how to dance at all. But that didn't matter. What mattered was keeping Maya in a good mood and _not_ in a killing one.

They stepped out onto the floor, passing betwen a number of other dancing couples. Phoenix put his hand on Maya's waist and she put one hand on his shoulder and they began to dance. She looked far happier now than she did before, and for that he was grateful. He was enjoying himself as well, or rather, he was enjoying the feeling of his hand on her waist. He caught a glimpse of Gauthier out of the corner of his eye, grinning as he danced with his date from earlier. She didn't seem quite so enthusiastic. Cresswell was dancing as well with a man he saw in the crowd from earlier, and Phoenix was careful to keep Maya's back to her.

It was a minute or so before he realized that he hadn't screwed up yet. He felt proud of himself until he stumbled a bit and almost stepped on Maya's foot. She recovered beautifully, stepping back and circling to make it seem intentional.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?" Phoenix asked, a bit of admiration sneaking into his voice.

Maya smirked at him and Phoenix knew exactly what was coming. "They've got these things called _lessons_, Nick. You know, where someone better than you at something agrees to teach you for a small fee?"

"Right." He grinned at her.

"They've got piano lessons too, you know-"

"I _got_ it, Maya."

The waltz ended abruptly and the dancers stopped and clapped politely. The band looked as pathetic as ever.

"Those guys look like they want to be here as much as I do," Maya mumbled quietly.

"At least they're getting paid."

"True." She smirked at him again. "After all, you get paid and you can't even play."

"I can _so_ play." Phoenix stuck his nose in the air. "I just can't play very much."

"Play what?" Phoenix jumped. Gauthier had somehow appeared behind him.

"The piano," he replied before he could stop himself.

"Truly? Well, regale us with a song my good man!" He smiled tipsily at Phoenix. "The guy up there looks like he's about ready to fall asleep."

"I don't think that's such a good idea . . ." Phoenix glanced towards Maya for support and she was about to speak when the droning man appeared on her right.

"Why not? Come on, just one song." Phoenix looked around and found expectant looks from a number of the men and women on the dance floor.

Great, way to go Phoenix, he thought. You're in deep now.

"Alright, alright, just one song," he said, putting his hands up in surrender. The group cheered a little and looked on excitedly. Whether they actually wanted to hear him play or whether they wanted to watch him fail horribly was impossible to guess.

Phoenix gave one last look at Maya - a grimace which she returned - before he walked up the three stairs of the band stage.

"Hey, uh, you guys mind if I sit in on piano?" He shrugged awkwardly and hoped they'd say no.

"S'fine with me, man," the piano player said. "I could definitely use a break from this."

Damn.

The pianist got up and walked off the stage, heading for the bar. Phoenix took his seat at the bench and wondered where to go from here.

"What do you wanna play?" Asked the cellist. He looked sympathetic. Phoenix's expression must have been saying it all.

Phoenix stared out the wall of windows behind the stage, mind racing, trying to think of something he could actually play that wouldn't sound terrible. There had to be something, anything at all . . .

Wait. There _was_ something. An old gangster movie from the thirties. That song the pianist played in the speakeasy. He couldn't remember the name of it, but it didn't matter - what mattered was that he had seen that movie so many times he knew it backwards and forwards. If there was anything he could play, it was this.

He just started playing, not bothering to answer the cellist. It was a simple, bouncy, upbeat tune, something he couldn't easily screw up. After a few seconds, the cellist smiled widely and set aside his bow, wrapping his arms around his instrument and plucking away a simple bass line with his long fingers. He seemed far more comfortable than he had earlier. Slowly, the violinist started nodding his head to the beat, then tapping his foot. After a minute he wandered to the back of the stage, put away his violin and bow, and returned with a new instrument - a muted trumpet.

Phoenix started to smile as he listened to them play. They weren't bad at all. He wanted to look up, to see Maya, probably locked in spasms of silent laughter. She had seen this movie quite a few times thanks to him, she'd probably recognize the song. But he couldn't tear himself away from the piano, couldn't let himself screw up in front of all these people. He had to make a good impression for her, after all.

After another minute, the song ended with a long low note from the trumpet player, and Phoenix blew a sigh of relief. It was over. Mild applause from the crowd, not much more than when the band had finished that stiff waltz, but he didn't care.

The horn player clapped him on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Nice play, man. Never thought I'd see someone with some taste in this place. You wanna sit in for a while?"

"Nah, I should be going." The two band members groaned audiably. Phoenix chuckled nervously and made a show out of rubbing the back of his head. "'Sides," he said, "that's the only song I know how to play."

The friendly laughter from the band echoed through his ears as he scanned the crowd. Where did Maya get to?

* * *

That lousy, rotten, no good, stupid, classless _bitch_.

Maya leaned heavily on the marble countertop, head over the sink. It was all she could do to keep her cool. She'd had to storm off to the bathroom after what that _harlot_ had said about Phoenix. She certainly couldn't deck her, though she sorely wanted to. No, that wouldn't be _ladylike_, now would it?

She sighed and turned the rightmost handle. Cold water poured out of the faucet. She cupped her hands and drank a bit, then ran them along the back of her neck. She could use a good splash of cold water on her face, but that would just ruin her makeup.

Another sigh as she looked in the mirror. She was all done up, all elegance and austerity, and she had to admit, she liked looking good. But it was so much work, and preparation, and for what? A few hours with people she didn't even like. At least when she was with Phoenix she could be guaranteed a good time, and she didn't have to do so much to herself to get him to like her either. Of course, that look of awe on his face when he'd seen her _had_ been priceless, but-

Her thoughts were disrupted when someone came barging through the door. He stumbled a little, then regained his footing, straightening his suit jacket and tie. He stepped forward and stopped when he noticed Maya gawking at him.

"Gauthier, what are you doing in the women's bathroom?"

He blinked, his goatee bristling a little. "This isn't the men's. . .?" She shook her head.

Gauthier shrugged, thoroughly unconcerned. "Oh well. My apologies." He turned to leave, but stopped in mid stride, slowly turning back. "But while I'm here, I might as well ask you something."

Maya peered at him suspiciously. "What?"

He walked over, standing in front of the sink next to hers and leaning backwards with his hands against the counter.

"This channelling thing you say you do," he said simply, "it _is_ a scam, isn't it?"

Maya wondered whether he meant to insult her or if he was simply too drunk to care what he said. She frowned at him as he stared into the mirror above the sinks. "No, of course not."

Gauthier glanced sidelong at her, his bushy eyebrows furrowed together. After a moment, he seemed to believe her. "Then during this channelling, what happens to you?"

She wondered how best to explain. It wasn't really a subject she contemplated much. It simply was what it was. "Well . . . when I'm channelling someone else, I sort of get pushed aside. My body remains my own, but their voice and experience and, to a certain extent, their features replace mine."

"So you look like the person you're channelling?" Gauthier seemed surprised, perhaps even pleased.

"Sort of." Maya fiddled with a bauble in her hair. "My hair stays the same, for the most part."

"And how long does this last?" He asked.

"Depends," she replied. She was still a little shocked she was getting these questions from Gauthier of all people, but this subject at least was comfortable for her. She was all business. "The will of the spirit involved, the mental and physical exertion, that sort of thing all effects how long it lasts. Usual sessions are about an hour, give or take a few minutes."

"And are you alone during all this?"

"Well, there's usually someone else present to monitor the channelling in case something goes wrong. That's very rare though, and there are some cases where-" She stopped, suddenly conscious of exactly what he had been asking. "Why?"

Gauthier's eyes widened, and he averted his gaze with a huff, leaning with one hand on the countertop and one on his hip. He stayed like this for a while, facing away from Maya.

Despite everything, she found she couldn't stop herself from asking the obvious question. "Gauthier, who do you want channelled?"

For a moment, Maya wondered if Gauthier was too drunk to even understand why he was asking, but then he took a deep breath, removed his hand from the counter, and straightened up, reaching into his jacket for something. Maya involuntarily leaned away when he turned around and extended his hand.

It was a polaroid, worn and creased with age, of two people standing together. The wall behind them looked like very old stone and the wooden table near the bottom of the photograph had a bottle of wine on it that looked empty. It was impossible to tell where it was taken, but Maya guessed it was a bar or restaurant of some sort. The people in the photo were strange indeed - one had long black hair pulled into a ponytail, a full beard, and a black suit that looked as though he'd slept in it recently. He had his arm around a women, with long shocking red hair and a dress that matched, though it also looked wrinkled and well used. She was smirking, and as Maya stared at the photo, she realized she was giving the dark haired man rabbit ears.

Maya's intuition told her exactly what she was looking at, but she couldn't believe it. There was no way. Anyone else, sure, but _Gauthier?_

"Is this-"

"My wife." Gauthier looked down at her. The smile on his face didn't quite reach his eyes. "We were married for eleven years. She died a decade ago this summer."

Maya just stared, dumbstruck. Gauthier pouted a little. "What's with the look?"

She realized her mouth was open and promptly closed it, shaking her head. "Sorry, I just. I didn't. Um. Expect you be so-"

"Romantic?" He asked, smiling again and bowing a little. "My dear Ms. Fey, you of all people should know I am all for romance."

Maya tried to stammer out a reply, but Gauthier cut her off. "I know, I know. You see me with all these women, always with a drink, and you think I'm a sleaze. . .well, I _am,_ but that's not the point." He smiled and stared wistfully off into space. "I'm just searching for someone. Someone who can make me feel like she did. Of course these women are nice, and they do distract for a time, but that's all they are - distractions. None of them a meaningful pursuit. At least so far."

Maya stared at the photo in her hand. She turned it over. On the back, written in cursive in fading ink, were two names - 'Grigori and Razmina.'

"So, you want me to channel your wife?" She asked. He nodded. Suddenly she remembered the line of questioning from earlier. "And then you two will. . .?"

He just shrugged. "We haven't seen each other in ten years. What else would we do?"

Maya's eyes widened and she waved her hands vigorously. "Ooooooh no, no funny business. No sir."

He raised a finger to object. "But-"

"No! No no no. If you want to talk, that's one thing. What you're asking is." She searched for the right word. "Inappropriate."

Gauthier's face fell and his shoulders sagged morosely. "Then I guess there's nothing left to discuss." He extended his hand. Maya handed him back the picture and he stuck it in his inner jacket pocket. He turned back to the sink and leaned on the counter top again, staring into the sink.

Maya felt worse than she felt she should. This was Gauthier. She _hated_ Gauthier. Right?

She extended a hand and patted him on the shoulder. He looked up and grinned mellowly at her. "You're no fun, Ms. Fey."

She felt herself smiling before she even realized it. "I've been called a lot of things by a lot of people, but that is a first."

Another little pat on the shoulder and then she walked past him, heading for the door to the bathroom. She grabbed the handle and froze, turning around. Gauthier hadn't moved.

"Grigori," she called, using the name from the back of the photograph. Gauthier looked up, bushy eyebrows raised.

"You might want to get out of the women's bathroom."

He laughed a little. "Perhaps I should."

Maya smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way and left, emerging back into the main hall.

* * *

Phoenix looked to his right as Maya opened the door to the women's bathroom. She looked surprised to see him. Truthfully, it hadn't taken long to figure out where she went. The whole hall was practically one room, apart from the antechamber leading to the elevators.

"Was that Gauthier's voice I heard in there?" He asked curiously.

"Yeah," she said quietly as she closed the door.

"Do you want me to beat him up? Because I'll do it." He uncrossed his arms and stepped away from the wall. He was only half-joking.

Maya chuckled a little and stared back at the door. She hesitated a moment before she said, "Nah. He's got enough problems I think."

She turned back and Phoenix noticed she looked a bit troubled. "Can we go? This party is thoroughly depressing me."

He blinked. "Alright, if you want to."

They were almost to the elevator when disaster struck.

"Ah, Ms. Maya, leaving so soon?" Cresswell strode towards them. "Is there a curfew in Kurain? Or are you simply tired of being ignored?"

Phoenix glanced back and forth between the two women. Cresswell was smiling with those perfect teeth, Maya was scowling worse than Edgeworth on a bad day. He began to seriously consider the possibility of having to break up a fight between these two.

Maya stared daggers at her foe as she advanced to within inches of Cresswell, who looked a bit taken aback by the intrusion on her personal space. "Actually, I've been feeling ill," she said. "Nausea, mostly. Been feeling that way since about ten thirty. I wonder what on Earth could be causing it?" She turned and grabbed Phoenix by the arm, practically dragging him out of the room. "Come on, Phoenix, before I throw up."

Phoenix was treated to a glimpse of a thoroughly flustered Sylvia Sophitia Cresswell as the door shut behind him.


	5. Nightcap

"I think my favorite part was the dance. Or, you know, totally acing that song from memory. Either or." Phoenix grinned as he took a drink of his cheap brandy. It wasn't fancy or expensive, but he liked it better than the swill they were serving at the Rosegarden.

"My favorite part was when we left," Maya said as she took a sip of her own drink, a plain old vodka martini. Mr. Vasili's were some of the best in the city, or so Maya told him. Phoenix had never been a fan of vodka.

They sat next to each other at the bar, on the farthest stools from the door. It was eleven fifteen, almost closing time at the Borscht Bowl Bar and Restaurant. They were all alone, save for Mr. Vasili, who always stayed behind to close up. He stood at the opposite end, cleaning one of the many glasses that hung above the bar.

"Hey, I noticed that display of self control on the way out," said Phoenix.

"Yeah, did you see how I was _not_ hitting her? I think I've grown. Y'know, as a person." She managed a weak smile. It didn't last long. "Elders'll probably chew me out for leaving early or not talking up enough of the rich and famous." She leaned back in her barstool. "I swear, this is my least favorite part of this whole Master business. I don't know how my mom dealt with it."

Phoenix figured there wouldn't be a better time to ask than right now. "You said something earlier, about being glad when you didn't have to do this any longer. What exactly did you mean by that?"

"Aside from the obvious?" Maya shot back. He just stared at her. She quickly realized she wasn't going to be able to distract him this time.

She leaned forward, elbows on the bar. Another sigh, wearier than the last. "Can't you just pretend you never heard that, Nick? It'd make things so much easier."

He said nothing. Just stared down at his drink and took another sip. The alcohol burned as it flowed down his throat. When he looked over again, she'd brought a hand up to rest her head in. He saw her steal a glance at the other end of the bar where Mr. Vasili was cleaning his beer mugs, then turn back to him.

"What I say, you can't tell anyone. And I mean no one, Nick. Not even Trucy. I can't let this get out until the proper time or it'll make things even more difficult for me than they already are."

He nodded slowly.

Maya turned back to her now nearly empty glass. "I'm going to give it another year, then I'm going to announce Pearl as my successor and step down from my position as Master."

Phoenix blinked. "Really?"

She nodded, her shoulders sagging. She looked more tired than Phoenix had ever seen her. "I just can't deal with it anymore. I know my mom was the Master and my grandma and my great grandma and all that, but I don't know how they managed it. The channelings are stressful enough, but then there's the hobnobbing with the rich and famous and always having to do and say things just so, never being able to relax, _really_ relax. Not to mention the bickering and infighting among the branch families. Pearl is ten times the medium I ever was, and that's not all - when she makes a suggestion, the Elders actually _listen._ They don't question it like they do all my decisions. They like her more because they liked Morgan more and they didn't like my mom or my sister so they don't like me."

She drank the last of her martini. "Pearl can institute real change, eliminate all this branch family business, stop the fighting and constant power struggles. I mean, I've made headway, but there's still quite a few who won't listen to a word I say. Pearl won't have those problems. And she's enthusiastic. She wants this more than I do, more than I ever did. Probably because it was never thrust on her."

She looked up past the counter at the myriad bottles arranged before the mirror on the wall. "So that's that. Now you know."

Phoenix empathized. Maya had never really wanted the position of Master in the first place. It was simply all she had ever known, all she had ever thought she could have. It was only after spending time away, helping the naive rookie attorney at his fledgling law firm that she got an idea of what she was missing. But she couldn't abandon her family. Pearls was only eight years old, and even if she was a gifted medium, she couldn't assume so much responsibility.

"So what'll you do after that?" He asked.

She turned towards him a little, but didn't meet his eyes. "I hadn't really thought about it," she replied.

Phoenix wasn't fooled. He had a feeling Maya _had_ thought about it, had an idea of where she wanted to be, but was too afraid to tell him for fear of learning a truth she didn't want to face.

But she didn't have to face it.

"You know," he said, fiddling with a button on his cuff, "I've been thinking of retaking the bar. Being a lawyer again."

Now she looked at him with widened eyes. He continued. "After all that's happened, I wasn't really sure I wanted to. I thought I should just give up the dream of returning to the good old days. Just ride off into the sunset and let it all be over. But after what you've told me . . . well, I wasn't going to do it if we couldn't work together again." He shifted on his stool, turning to face her fully. She looked ready to burst into tears. He just smiled at her. "No one could ever really replace you, Maya."

She threw herself at him, nearly propelling him off his seat. She hugged him tightly and he felt tears hit his shoulder. "Thank you," was all she said, whispered into his neck. Phoenix got the impression she wasn't really talking to him.

They stayed like that for a minute, Maya practically on Phoenix's lap as he she embraced him. He hugged back, unwilling to break the moment. He glanced at Mr. Vasili over her shoulder and caught him staring at them. The old Russian quickly averted his gaze, turning around to give them some semblance of privacy.

"The sunset's for suckers, Nick," Maya said with a giggle. Phoenix chuckled dryly and pulled away for a moment to look her in the eyes. They were still wet, but she was beaming at him. She had never looked happier.

"Eloquent as always, Ms. Fey," he said, wiping her cheek with his thumb. As she stepped off the stool, he stood up as well, calling to his boss.

"Mr. Vasili?" He turned around, thin eyebrows raised. "Can you pump anything but Russian folk music through these speakers?"

He blinked slowly. Then he walked towards them, past them, to the sound system terminal underneath the bar. After a moment's fiddling, he stood up again. The speakers cut out in the middle of a strange guitar piece and then started playing a slow ballad.

"Russian love song," he said as he stood, not meeting their gaze as he strode right back down the bar and resumed cleaning the already spotless glass.

Phoenix just grinned. He had long suspected, and now he knew - behind that cold, uncaring exterior, Mr. Vasili was really a total softy.

He turned back to Maya, taking her hand in his. "Might thee trouble milady for a dance?" He asked.

"Thou might-est, for 'tis no trouble. Um, to thee. Or thou." She huffed, still smiling. "Yeah sure, whatever."

Phoenix led her to roughly the middle of the restaurant (the Borscht didn't really have a dance floor) and wrapped one arm around her waist, leading her in a slow circular dance.

Maya sighed contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder again. "Why is it that I'm happier dancing in a cold little Russian bar than I am dancing in one of the fanciest, most exclusive places in the city?"

"Maybe it's the Russian love song," he mumbled.

She laughed and he felt her convulse against him. Then they fell silent, quietly dancing in the middle of an empty restaurant. As Phoenix closed his eyes to enjoy the moment, he caught a brief glimpse of Mr. Vasili smiling wistfully as he stared into the glass he was cleaning, mouthing along to the Russian lyrics.


End file.
